Writing Every Day Down

Boundaries

How finding your edges is your path to FREEDOM.

I am an empath. This means that I feel others’ stuff. I feel it like it’s my own. I feel their pain; I feel their joy; I feel their anger; I feel their heartache. I feel their stomachache; I feel their anxiety; I feel their panic attack.

The space between me and another is hard for me to understand. As such, finding where I end and another begins has been a lifelong challenge for me. Where the heck are my boundaries?

(And it’s not just we empaths who struggle to find their edges. Those who have experienced situations which result in trauma do as well. For these individuals, an initial denial and repeated denial of feeling their real emotions causes a disconnect in mind and body, thereby producing difficulties with making beneficial boundaries.)

Everything I experience hits me deep, raw, and intense. As an empath, I feel the energy of myself and others. As I age, this ability only grows deeper and stranger.
Sylvester McNutt III

Yep. Just turned 56 and this describes me to the tee. As such, doing my best to feel into my boundaries and then lay them down is challenging. Hard but vital. Vital for the sake of my relationship with myself and my relationships with others.

When people set boundaries with you, it is their attempt to continue to relationship with you. It’s not an attempt to hurt you.
Elizabeth Earnshaw

Because I am so sensitive, there’s been this underlying guilt for drawing a line in the sand between myself and others. Like, if I loved them unconditionally, I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t say, “this is me and this is you and you stay over there and I’ll maintain my energies over here.” Like, only somewhat hateful and selfish would do something like that, right? ;-/

As empaths, we are not here to be sponges or enablers. We are here to be helpers, guides, and supporters.
Aletheia Luna

It dawned within me that creating boundaries was supportive of both my journey and others’ journeys, and that finding my space and kindly protecting it was enabling others to do the same. I allowed myself to entertain the thought of being both compassionate and curious about where I end and another begins… and then gave myself permission to create a safe space between us — call it a boundary — where we may meet. Kinda like a fence over which two neighbors meet over their morning cup of joe, conversing about the latest goings-on around town.

Honoring another means allowing them to let you know where you are allowed to meet them… and then meeting them there.
Lisa Augustine Glasier

During a coaching session, my client and I were discussing boundaries. She too had experienced a distaste for them, believing that boundaries were for bitches… or for those too selfish to share themselves. Upon asking her what a boundary would look like to her, she shrugged.

Her: “I would have no idea… a blazing fire, perhaps? so high that another couldn’t get close enough to hurt me? or maybe a wall, so high that another couldn’t scale it and surprise me?”

Me: “Possibly. Someone with this boundary must be awfully afraid that she was at risk of being hurt, would you agree?”

Her: “Yes. But don’t boundaries have to keep the bad guys out?”

Me: “This is one perspective. Boundaries are for our safety. Sure. But boundaries can serve another purpose as well. They could let others know how we prefer to be treated. Less active protection, aggressive and assuming the others have ill intentions, and more teaching, open-hearted and open-minded. Kinda like, I am here to let you know that I am open to a conversation, but only in this space here. And I want you to feel at ease at my borders.”

Her: “Hmmmm. Less fending off and fencing off… and more directing and educational… kinda like a map. Here’s where you are and here’s where I am. I’m not pissed off at you when I tell you that this is my space and you’re not allowed in or on it until I give you permission. I’m just informing you that this is where I feel most comfortable to engage with you.”

Me: “Exactly.”

Her: “This feels better to me. My body doesn’t feel so defensive.”

Me: “Nice! Question: what would that boundary look like for you now?”

Her: “Uhm, I’m still not sure.”

Me: “That’s okay! May I share what mine looks like to me?”

Her: “Yes, please.”

Me: “Wildflowers. A beautiful array of lovely smelling flowers. Some days, it’s a large field, as far as the eye can see. Not a soul in sight. Those are my more sensitive days. Some days, it’s just a strip, and I can easily see the next person through the bright, happy colors of alfalfa, orchids, and anemone.”

Her: “Oh, I like that!”

Me: “Me too. Makes me feel more peaceful than the large moat and drawbridge I used to contain myself within. I actually feel more safe among my wildflowers than within the castle I’d created.”

Her: “Hmmmm. Lots to ponder.”

Daring to set boundaries is about having the courage to love ourselves even when we risk disappointing others.
Brene Brown

How about you? Have you ever thought about your edges? others’ edges? How would you describe your boundaries?

Dear One, should you enjoy this blog… please check out the 30-day journals which I have created with YOU in my mind and heart. They cover a variety of topics and are sent to your inbox, easy-peasy. 🙂

Writing Every Day Down, in gratitude & wonder,

Lisa xx

Appreciate Me, Dammit!

I LOVE YOU LIKE COFFEE

Photo by Kevin Menajang from Pexels

The deepest human need is the need to feel appreciated.
William James, Psychologist

We all want to feel appreciated, to some degree or another. Right? Even the most humble and self-assured among us desire even a little bit of attention, affirmation, love.

How many times have you felt unappreciated? Unloved? Unseen?

Have you ever had a conversation that goes like this:

You: “You don’t love me.”

Them: “Of course I do!” (bewildered)

You: “Well you sure don’t show it!”

Them: “I vacuumed the whole upstairs yesterday!” (even more bewildered)

You: “But you didn’t hug me!”

Miscommunication.

The problem may not be lack of love.

It may be lack of adequate communication.

I’m expressing my love to you… but you don’t hear me… because you speak a different language of love.

HOW DO YOU LOVE?

Five love languages: (Gary Chapman’s Love Languages)

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION
1. Your coffee is delicious.
ACTS OF SERVICE
1. I made you coffee.
GIFTS
1. Here’s a coffee.
QUALITY TIME
1. Let’s go get coffee.
PHYSICAL TOUCH
1. Let me hold you like a coffee.

Since understanding this concept that each of us receives love differently, I’ve made it a point to find out how the people in my life feel loved by me. Because it is vital for me that the others know that I love them, I strive to become aware of how they receive love.

Everything depends on how we love one another.
Mother Teresa

It was big news for me to come to know that not everyone feels loved in the same way. What a revelation and marriage-saving truth this was for me! Not only have I come to understand the various love languages, but I have come to know better how I myself feel loved, seen, appreciated. It has saved many a relationship when I realize that the other one may very well love me but not speak my language.

MY CHILD FEELS LOVED:

I have a child whose love language is gifts. This is not my love language but once I realized that it is hers, I make sure to leave flowers or a bag of chocolates on her desk in her bedroom. This is how she feels loved.

I FEEL LOVED:

My love language is words of affirmation. I also speak physical touch. You want me to know you love me? Affirm me with words and give me a hug.

People who love each other fully and truly are the happiest people in the world.
Mother Teresa

HOW DO YOU FEEL LOVED?

TakeAway:

It’s why we’re here, to love and be loved. To see and be seen. To appreciate and feel appreciated.
Discover which love language is yours.
Let others know how to love you best.
Discover which love language is theirs.
Love them like that.
Be patient. Learning new languages takes time.

As an Empowerment Coach, Empath, and Fitness Trainer, I am here to guide you on your wellness journey. Appointments available here.

Hugs.

I’ll Stand By You

Allow yourself to feel what you feel.

Don’t pretend to feel something you don’t.

AKA “if you’re mad, get mad…”

Photo by Helena Lopes from Pexels

Lost my temper the other day.

No, that’s actually not quite it.

I found my anger the other day. Boy oh boy, did I ever. Furious words scraped out of my mouth, long held air whooshed through my lungs. My body shook, my voice like sandpaper, all gritty and scraped.

I didn’t feel the words coming from my mind. They felt originated from my guts. Long hidden memories, long lost emotions, never spoken sentiments. As the words emerged like angry mama bears, I witnessed myself feeling… feeling fury, the perfect storm crashing out of my being and out to the end of the snowy driveway.

It scared me. A lot.

Like, a whole lot.

I am not an angry person. And yet. I harbored an intensity of hate that shocked me. Where the heck had this come from? Until that moment when “all hell broke loose,” I was completely unaware of the depth of my anger.

Rage is a hot, fast-burning fuel. It can be powerful and useful. Or not.
Augusten Burroughs, THIS IS HOW (Surviving What You Think You Can’t)

I’ll set the scene for us: I really don’t like the cold. Shoveling is kinda yucky. In just three days, my husband and I found ourselves sans snowblower (broken, dammit) and out there in parkas and gloves and hats and boots and ohmygodihatesnow shoveling for the fourth time. Just to get out the driveway.

As I shoveled, the anger started to burn the back of my throat. I tried swallowing, pushing it back down. I became aware that a voice inside my head chided, “you can’t be angry; nice girls don’t get angry; anger isn’t pretty, you want to be beautiful, don’t you?” Try as I might, it’s like I couldn’t stop the damn from bursting forth. And spew it did.

Spitting, growling, eyes squinted. “I hate *#% and I am allowing myself to hate ^#$* for what they did to me!” Arms flailing, and I felt out of control… well, there’s more but you can visualize the bloody mess of it all. Carnage. Hateful words puked out and piled up.

God, I felt so much better.

I mean, not right away. Immediately, I felt exhausted. I began to defend myself to the voice within chiding and abasing. “For shame!” she hissed. Shovel in one hand, other hand on my hip, I replied, “I am allowed to feel my feelings. I give myself permission to voice my anger at the injustice. I will not hate them forever. But in this moment, I must allow myself to be real with myself. And the truth is that I am really pissed off.”

Took about three days for the vibration of anger to dissolve from my body. Through a process of self compassion, honesty, journaling, and rest, I held space for the messenger called Anger to speak and then be on its way. No rush, no fuss, no shaming, no judging. No trying-to-make-sense-of-it-all. Just breathing, holding space, listening, grounding, and seeing.

Alchemy achieved. Trauma dissolved.

It may be frightening at first to allow your true feelings to the surface; it may even feel dangerous. But it’s much more dangerous to your emotional well-being to wish or deny a feeling away.
Augusten Burroughs

It’s taken me a long time to conclude that anger is not bad. Nor is it good. Anger is a feeling. And feelings are neither bad nor good. They merely are. They just exist. Our egos slap labels on them such as honorable or horrible. We teach and preach those labels to our children.

But what if our feelings, like this Anger I met from within me ages burrowed, are holy messengers? “Hey there, Anger here. Alert! Boundaries breached! Danger!”

Holy Messengers.

How then would we correspond with our feelings? Tamp down, shove in a drawer, hide for shame… or allow, give space for, listen, revere.

The anger I felt was not bad. It was a reaction to injustice. I am not a bad girl for feeling it. Nor was I a good girl for trapping it in a wooden crate and burying it in the far corner of the basement. Forgetting about it for a lifetime.

I conclude with a great song by The Pretenders (which I find hilarious since I am encouraging us all to n-o-t pretend, to be real and raw and authentic and brave… but I find that Divine has a great sense of humor.)

TakeAway:

Your feelings are real and messy but part of the human experience. So don’t freak out about them.
Hold them with an openness to listen, to hear their message, with compassion for yourself.
Feel these emotions into your body.
Be patient. This is sacred work.

If you’re mad, get mad… don’t hold it all inside… come on and talk to me now.
Chrissie Hynde

As an Empowerment Coach, Empath, and Fitness Trainer, I am here to guide you on your wellness journey. Appointments available here.

Hugs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyb2RX0hii8&ab_channel=ObethHernandez

Chronicles From The Edge

Being weird is not so strange.

So much change!

So. Much. Energy.

Can you feel it as well?

The energies are deep and the opportunities abound for fast-moving processing of long-held emotions. I’ve been all in on this crazy train ride for the past few months. The outward manifestation of the inner work happening is blowing my mind. So many rough-edged, intertwined knots within my space being softened, untwisted, made plain and peaceful.

Bestie commented last week, “Whatever you’re doing, it’s rocking your world. Something is going on with you… and that’s a good thing. You’re, uh, I would say you’re more confident, more likely to speak your heart.”

It’s true. You may never, ever find me at a crowded party but i-f you did… I would not necessarily have myself pressed up against the wall. Days past, I may have tried to melt into the paint.

I feel less like I’m tensing myself, girding my loins for the next tragedy and more like my shoulders and neck can breathe. I don’t have to be on the lookout anymore. I can trust where my foot lands.

Have you ever experienced such a relief as this? You thought it was bad news coming and you’d braced yourself… and then. To your surprise and utter ohmygoodness, the badness dissolved. Dude, this is life changing.

All this to say, I sat down to write a blog for my site and found myself changing quotes, rearranging pictures, reducing prices, increasing personal information. I have traveled from “Musings On The Extraordinary Mundane” (gratitude and present mindedness) to “Helping You Navigate Heartache And Loss” (staying above the waves of grief, or at least trying not to drown in them) to “Chronicles From The Edge” (authentic me writing about real shit.)

Just in the last couple of months, I’ve experienced seismic shifts of emotions, and it’s like the way shows itself more clearly. I can see better, further. I can know. I am more Here. Now.

And full of my-Self.

Less ego. Less fear, in all its masks.

More my authentic, weird-ass self. And I am loving every minute of it! It’s like finding a long lost present tucked waaaay back in the closet… like, who knew? Where did THIS come from? And so you open it and find out it is exactly what you’ve been seeking and didn’t even know it. Uhm, yesssss please!

You? You ever experience such a find as this? You’re hungry and you know you are, but you cannot put your finger on for what… you thirst, and you know it, but for what? Because nothing but exactly It will quench your appetite. But what is It?

I’ve come to the conclusion – for today, this moment, as that’s all I’m standing on – that the It is our True Self. Our real-deal-raw-genuine-no-holds-barred Us. Authentic. Naked. Unabashed.

Which, let’s just be honest, is a shitload of scary to find, to share, to allow to unpack and get comfy with.

But I’ve decided I’m going all in. Bring it. I have a feeling it will cause some raised brows, ahem’s, perhaps a few giggles. Because, leastwise this is my current theory, I think our Self is way more funny and joy-abiding than we give It credit.

We are, at our corest core, Spirit. Love. I think Jesus knew this about himself and us. Whenever I picture Jesus, he’s always kicking up his heels at a party. TrueStoryDat. WWJD? Dance. Yes indeed, I think he might even dance. Enjoy the living snot out of Life.

To live is the rarest is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.
Oscar Wilde

Okay, I’m tapping… FurButt wants her extra walk around the block on this snowy Sunday afternoon. For all the unconditional love and sloppy deer-poop breathy kisses she shares, I figure I owe her this much at least.

Oh, and just so that you know that I do have s-o-m-e sense of balance… I chose to byline my site “Chronicles From The Edge” rather than “Diary Of A MadWoman.” Eh, the latter sounded a wee theatrical and I didn’t wanna scare the whole lot of ya off right away. 😉

We’re all a little weird and life’s a little weird.
Dr. Seuss

Today… is a good day to have a good day, my Friend.

You are loved, held, heard, seen, holy.

So go ahead and breathe. Take a load off.

It’s only life after all.
Indigo Girls

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude and wonder.

Lisa xx

JOURNAL PROMPTS:

Take a moment to become aware of your neck and shoulders. How do they feel? Tense? Loose? If they were a color, what would that be? If they were hungry, what would they want to eat? If they were thirsty, what would they want to drink?
Put on a favorite song. Dance for the whole song. Be mindful of how your body is feeling… and write about it.

Through… <3

When listening, do so through your heart.

Photo by Ashley Williams from Pexels

When listening, do so through your heart. – Dr. Gabor Mate

My daughter has a gift.

She listens.

Full on, eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart.

You. Are. It.

How incredibly healing this is… when no solutions are presented. Just space. Attention. Love.

Space.

Attention.

Love.

Have you ever been truly listened to? I mean, eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart. The other’s gaze is upon you and only you. With compassion.

Compassion: concern for the suffering of others

Yes, listened to with compassion. Is there anything more that we could give another… but our full attention, wide open heart, willing to hug arms. Is anything more healing than… being seen, feeling safe, being held.

As one who provides space for those who are experiencing deep emotions such as grief, disappointment, heartache, sadness… and as one who has experienced the chasm, the depth and width and height and length of devastation, of utter loss… I know firsthand how life-giving it is to be in the presence of one who is compassionate, without judgment, and without the need to fix, make right, correct, add two cents.

Listen, when I’m grieving, I just need someone to grieve beside me. To witness my humanness and confirm for me that, while it may feel like it, I am not going to actually die. But, since I feel like I am and may even feel like I want to, would you just hold me? Would you rock me and assure me that this too shall pass, like a wave hits the shore and pulls back out to sea? Would you reassure me that I shall perhaps always grieve but not always feel like I can’t breathe? Would you assure me that I’m not crazy, just out of my mind with ache and loss? – from my personal journal

Listen, I don’t need you to fix me. I need you to hold me. I’m not broken. I’m just grieving.
from my journal, Lisa Augustine Glasier

And so, my prayer and intention is this:

May I listen through my heart.

May I hold another through my heart.

And with my arms when appropriate.

May I learn to help another process the depths of their emotions through their hearts – which is a brave thing indeed – without feeling the need to teach, chide, offer platitudes or a timeline, explain Providence, or somehow make their tragedy a teachable moment or explainable. Oh God, keep me from this sin!

For the love of this earthly experience, may I allow another who is grieving to grieve. To plunge, kneel, lean into, toe-dip… to BE with grief. Whatever that looks like. For however long it takes. Yes, for however long it takes to learn to breathe again.

May we all learn to live through our hearts.

So that, we may learn to live – and allow others to do so – while we yet grieve.

When listening, may we do so through our hearts.
from Dr. Gabor Mate… Compassionate Inquiry Practitioner course

Amen.

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude and wonder.

Lisa xx

P.S. If you’re experiencing grief right now, here is a hug. I’m so sorry; this hurts so much and it sucks and it feels overwhelming. If you need someone to listen, I’m here. For as long as it takes, whatever it looks like. ❤

YOUR JOURNAL PROMPT:

Can you feel the difference between listening to another with your mind and with your heart? If so, how do these two types of listening feel different?
Sit on the floor or in a chair with your feet on the floor (this grounds you and your energies.) Focus your attention on your feet for one minute. Move the attention to your hands for one minute. Move your attention to your heart space for a minute. And, finally, to your head space. Can you feel the difference among all these places on your body energetically? Journal about this experience.
How does your body react when you ponder being hugged? How does your body react when you ponder hugging another? Journal about these two actions.

13 Months

Waiting…

Thirteen months. It’s been thirteen months since I got my hair cut. Yesterday, I met with my gal and she trimmed me up good. Said I sure needed it. Well, ya know, thirteen months and all.

Last time I went, I told her to chop it off. Seven inches of my hair lay on the ground by the time all was said and done. It felt right.

She asked why I would cut so much off, knowing how I prefer wearing it long. I told her that I felt like something was coming. Something big. Big energies. My reaction was to close my business of 28 years as a personal trainer/health coach and chop off my hair.

I can be extreme.

That said, something did come and it was big. And it’s still coming and it’s still big. Bigly scary and bigly exciting. Bigly big. We have shifted, are shifting still. We continue to ride this wave. Of change. Of so much unknown.

I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life.

Change is not easy for me. I like to KNOW. I like to see what’s coming up ahead and be prepared. This going with the flow… is just so damn scary. What if? And what if? And then what if? And so I cry.

I miss my clients. Terribly. Daily for 28 years, I looked forward to seeing them, hearing their stories, working out with them, getting a paycheck, having a schedule. I love to mother, to nurture, to hug. * Truth be known, I’d have trained them for free. Okaaaaay, there are a couple I still would have charged. But at a discount. 😉 *

My hair gal asked if I missed my hair after she’d chopped all those inches off. I said no. For the love of it’s-only-hair, I have found myself altogether preoccupied within my heart. I have been enormously sad.

Grieving. When I closed my business, which was really more like my heart in that building, I felt like I lost something. My spark. My purpose.

And so I’ve cried. Oceans.

I look around me and wonder if anyone out there feels the way I do. It’s one thing to feel out of sorts. It’s another to feel it all alone. I know others have experienced such big losses, bigger than mine for sure. And yet, mine is big too. To me. And so I honor this. And honor the emptiness I am experiencing.

I am doing my best to breathe. I remind myself of the joy of having had so many years and sessions and ab crunches among some of the finest souls ever known to walk this earth. Or, at the least, Chautauqua County. I feel like I was gifted with the best job ever. God, I hope that I let them know how much they meant to me… how much I enjoyed my days with them.

And I am doing my best to surrender into the arms of Whoever is holding me now. And allowing myself to be open to whatever comes next. Gah, I have so many questions! Will I return to training/coaching? Will it be similar or altogether different? Where do I put all this mother-y nurturous mojo that sloshes around inside me? What do I do with my arms, ears, heart… which were used to hugging, listening, praying?

I know my hair will grow back.

But what about my purpose? Does that come back?

Do you ever feel like some days, you just have got it all together…

You can see for miles.

You just know how the story ends.

Baby, you are in the Flow!

But other days, you wonder if you will be up to making dinner…

I suppose that this is where Faith settles in.

Whispers gently.

And Self-Compassion comes close, reaches out, pulls in.

Soothes.

And Patience grows.

Ah, Patience. Grows.

I can see this much at least.

Amen.

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude and wonder.

YOUR JOURNAL PROMPT:

2020 was a big year and so many of us – most of us, right? – have experienced big change. Allow yourself to breathe and really feel this for just a few moments. Honor this bigliness of energetic shift. Like, whew!
Anything in particular rough on you? Did you lose anything or anyone?
Any are in particular in which you grew, evolved, learned, thrived?
Are you a naturally go-with-the-flow soul or more controlling?
Short hair or long? 😉

WWWWhore

Southern-style Chicken ‘n Dumplings

Confession:

I am a YouTube whore.

#sorrynotsorry

#introverthacks

#welcometomyhumor

I discovered the worldwideweb of videos a few years ago. There’s everything from teaching to venting, inspiring to educating. I just so dig it.

Yesterday, I created my first ever “Southern-style Chicken ‘n Dumplings.” And it turned out so good! (Recipe below.)

We’re in what many are dubbing The Aquarian Age, which includes technological advances galore. While I prefer to find myself knee-deep in the mud of my garden or lost in the woods or listening to the waves crash the shore, my smartphone is darn convenient. The amount of shere information at the end of my fingers… well, it’s mind-boggling.

And I am a whore for information.

Libraries? Yes, please.

Documentaries? Sign me up.

History channel? I’m already making the popcorn so press play.

Husband and I struggled when the phones became a big thing, all the rage and “every one of my friends has one, Mom and Dad, and why can’t I and I need one and pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeease let me have a phone!” Gah, we so wanted to protect each of our Five from the bigness of the WWW.

Whoever said little kids, little problems; bigger kids, bigger problems… musta had kids ‘cause that pretty much nails it.

Anyhoo, we survived that season and they each have phones now and I’m thrilled because I can reach out via text almost every day and say “hi and I miss you and when can I make you dinner, please come visit, and did I mention yet I miss you so much.”

Because I am a whore for gathering with my family. And feeding them. And hugging and playing cards and laughing. Incredibly thankful for technology I am! I may not understand it all and sometimes it comes all up in my face and I feel overwhelmed… but it’s also been useful for many things.

Like making something new and different for dinner. Like Chicken ‘n Dumplings, Southern-style, if you please.

Chop up three carrots and three stalks of celery and one onion.
In a stockpot, toss in a couple tablespoons of olive oil, heat and throw in step one. Heat through for a few minutes.
Add garlic. I like it so I’m heavy-handed at about two tablespoons. Up to you. Heat through, about 2 minutes or so.
Toss 3 room temp chicken breasts and 6 cups of chicken broth. Bring to boil and reduce heat to simmer. Make dumplings while this cooks. (Twenty minutes)
Dumplings: mix 2 cups flour, ½ teaspoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon salt; add ⅓ cup shortening. Blend altogether til texture is like sand. Add 1 cup buttermilk (or just plain milk which is what I did and it turned out tasty)
Roll out dough to ¼ inch thick and take butterknife and make strips of any size. I made small squares.
Back to the pot: remove chicken, shred it and replace into pot. Add 2 cups milk and “cornstarch slurry” (mix 1 tablespoon cornstarch into ¼ cup water) – this thickens the soup broth a bit
Once the pot is boiling again, reduce heat to simmer and add all of your dumplings. These will take about 20 minutes to cook properly.
Grab a spoon, baby, ‘cause dinner’s served.

Enjoy.

I could end with saying something more about whores… but I figure you already guessed I was planning on doing that. So I won’t. 😉

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude and wonder.

YOUR JOURNAL PROMPT:

This being here now thing is rocking my world! From the details of a mound of three-day-old snow (which FurButt insists sniffing every morning) to the vastness of allowing myself to get lost in the grape vineyard out back, I am experiencing the littlest things with the biggest wonder. I’m having the time of my life and am excited to share it with you.

What do YOU think of technology? Pros/Cons
If you dig into YouTube, do you have a favorite channel?
Did you angst about anything specific when raising your children?
What is your favorite meal of the day? — Husband’s is definitely dinner; I am a lunch whore…. 😉

Coming Back Home

“We eat what we eat because we’re afraid to feel what we feel.” – Geneen Roth

Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels

Time to check in.

Toes? wiggling

Ankles? yep

Calves? squeeze-release

Knees? right here

Thighs? (I love you!) present

Hips? Butt? in all our glory

Peehole? in attendance

Belly button? thumbs up

Chest? Breasts? double yup (or triple, I guess)

Spine? Back? check and check

Neck? Shoulders? here, boss

Arms? Elbows? Wrists? all accounted for

Fingers? wiggling

I’m here.

Sounds silly, I guess, to “check in” with my body. But I’ve found it essential to my journey.. to staying, BEing, NOWing.

I remember when the first time this idea of becoming aware of my body was brought to my attention. I was running on the treadmill at the local gym, listening to a teaching through my ear buds. Geneen Roth, who I believe is still in practice, was presenting a three-part series on Disordered Eating Recovery.

To my annoyance, she began each teaching with a guided “check in” much the same as the one I shared here. Gah, she irritated me!

“For the love of everything intellectual, woman, just unpack your story and get to the point of how you healed,” I growled. No, I mean it. I really growled. Like, I was pissed.

My feet? Ankles? What the eff? White light to my organs? You’re kidding me, right? What the hell kinda mumbo-jumbo is she going on about here? Where’s the science? Where’s the information? Where’s her list of resources, and why oh why is she going on and on about feeling her skin and muscles and bones?

Grrrrrrr! I thought this was a teaching about learning how to eat again. (Which it was. I just didn’t recognize it as such yet.)

Irritated though I was, I had no idea how to fast forward on the device I was using so I was stuck listening to her encourage us to become more aware of our bodies, of where they were in space, and how they were feeling in that moment. Tight, loose, hot, cold, distant, near, safe, scary… she asked us to become aware of what messages our body was sending, were we listening, were we creating safe space, were we practicing self compassion.

And all that shit. Blah blah blah…

Get to the lesson, Karen. (Er, Geneen.)

She mosied around the topics of coming back home to our bodies, believing that many of us — due to circumstances beyond our ability to process — found them unsafe and then eventually unfamiliar. Her intention was to help us return to ourselves. She said that many of us had, for any number of reasons, abandoned our-selves.

“Your body is reliable. If you will listen, it will speak.” – Geneen Roth

Hmmmmm.

I became curious.

Then scared.

Because becoming aware of my breath and how it felt in my body started to stir up very uncomfortable feelings. I realized that I did not in fact live from my body but from my mind. (My apologies, G. You obviously knew what you were doing.) I had been intellectualizing my feelings; I intellectualized living rather than actually living. Because life was safer this way for me.

Safer, but kept me contained in anxiety, which if you think about it is not really safe at all. And, Geneen continued throughout her teachings, healing starts with coming back into your body. Coming out of an intellectual acknowledgment of feelings and into an actual feeling of feelings. Like, let your body feel them feelings, the good, the bad, and the ugly. No judgment.

Which is scarier than it sounds. Thus, the whole living inside my mind. Get details. Gather facts.

PSA:

It’s a brave thing to feel.

To feel your feelings.

Damn brave.

I don’t think I’m that great at it yet. If life was a cookie — and wouldn’t that just be the kix, baby — but if life was a cookie, my first instinct would be to ask you for the recipe, talk details about how much flour, dark or semi-sweet chocolate chips, and do you really need to beat in only one egg at a time. But I think I would be too afraid to eat it.

Which is why I hang out with a few cookie-munching souls. They ain’t afraid o’ nothing. Okay, they’re afraid of some stuff, but they are brave enough to try new cookies. And encourage me to do the same.

Life’s a journey, isn’t it?

Wonderful.

Scary.

Amazing.

Big.

Sometimes wild and out-of-control.

All this to say, I’m learning to breathe. To stay. To BE. To NOW.

To feel my feet, my shoulders, and my sadness.

To befriend my waist, my butt, and my disappointment.

To live.

From my body, my heart, and my mind.

To be thankful for cookie-eating friends.

Who are encouraging.

And often hilarious.

So there’s laughter.

And that’s some good stuff right there.

And to appreciate the mentoring of teachers such as Geneen.

Who inspire me to try weird stuff…

Like breathing into my calves and sending light to my thighs.

And believing for miraculous stuff…

Like eating, loving, healing, laughing.

Coming back home.

Who would have thought it started with a simple breath?

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude and wonder.

YOUR JOURNAL PROMPT:

Do you have a regular practice of self-awareness like yoga or breathing or journaling?
Do you have a mentor?
Cookie-eating friends?
In your humble opinion, do we really need to beat in just one egg at a time? Hmmmm.

Message In A Dream

The Power of Compassion

Photo by Matthew DeVries from Pexels

I had that same dream again last night. The one in which I am trying to put contacts into my eyes. Odd thing is, the contacts are the size of dinner plates. I realize that I’m trying to put something way too big into my eyes and, though I feel rushed,I try nonetheless. I feel the world on my shoulders. It’s hard to breathe.

In similar dreams I’ve had over the years, the contacts are dirty but I insert them anyway. There’s always so much activity around me and I feel pressured to hurry up already and get to seeing. There’s stuff to do, people need me to help them, the show must go on.

In reality, I am blind as a bat. Started wearing contacts at thirteen. The doctor had thought that perhaps the contacts would stop my eyes from further deterioration as I was entering prime hormonal fluctuation and already couldn’t see the big E at the top of the chart from three feet away.

This recurrent dream usually leaves me unsettled the next day. It has today, right on par. I looked up the dream meaning of “trying to put contacts that are too big or dirty into your eyes” – was surprised to see that I’m not alone in this exact dream. That said, I found minimal explanation.

As I’ve pondered it for myself all day, I’ve decided that perhaps it may be my “inside knower”, my guts, my instinct, the God in me, the Spirit, that Source of Love and Truth, showing me that I can get to feeling overwhelmed with all the activity around me and that I feel unusually responsible for everyone… and, perhaps, life was too much for me early on, during my childhood. No shame towards my parents. I have five children myself now and I am aware of my shortcomings regarding parenting them. This is life. But I’d like to learn. Learn from this. Grow. Evolve. Share. Help. Guide.

And so I’ve listened.

Listened to my body.

Today, my body craves comfort. I don’t want to just be comforted, to be told I’ll be okay or to further unpack my story; I ache to feel comforted. In my body. Held. Warmed. Cared about. Protected. Seen. That the sensations of safety and security would seep into my bones. So that my body could finally relax, breathe, smile.

This little voice in my head has been whispering, “Go out to the freezer and grab another bag of Christmas cookies.” Cookies, for whatever reason, have always made me feel comforted, grounded, distracted from the pain of living, happy if even for the few minutes while I eat them.

I hung out in disordered eating for thousands of years. Okay, not that many. Felt like it, though. I didn’t understand the connection between the cravings of cookies and the cravings of Love. So I overate, overexercised to compensate, and was altogether quite confused about what the fuck had just happened. And, about a week later, it would happen all over again. Forward a thousand years.

Today is a celebration for I have understood that there’s minimal efficacy in trying to “make sense” in my mind space of things that happened when I was in my tender, influential growing up years. I realize that it is my physical body that has somehow stored up these memories and is then oozing out a vibe that says, “comfort me; I am in pain.”

I don’t need to understand so much as I need to comfort.

Less mind; more body.

I can’t make the past go away, can’t change it. But I can sit with the feelings that still reside in my body and hold myself gently, kindly, with much compassion. I can rock them, rock the little girl, and rock this adult woman. I can thank my body for giving me the cookie-message, thank my spirit for intuiting that I crave sweet love as well as sugar cane, and thank my mind for reminding me that I have time to get under the electric blanket and take a nap before my meeting.

Life happens. Messy, confusing situations by messed-up, confused souls. And yet. This is life. A life – may I emphasize – still shining with happy memories and well-intentioned people. And so.

Hate does not drive out hate. Only love can do that. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

And so. I hold myself with great compassion… so that I can heal and eventually hold everyone with great compassion. It is what will heal us all: compassion. Because, on some level, we are all hurting.

An eye for an eye leaves everybody blind. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

And so. Breathe.

Love whispers, “there’s healing yet to manifest, dear One.” I know this. I am believing for it.

So even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

I snuggle into the warmth of the blanket, relax into the sway of the rocker, and smile as the taste of a sweet Christmas cookie nestles into my belly.

I’m on a journey. I can see this clearly now.

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude & wonder.

YOUR JOURNAL PROMPT:

Do you have any recurring dreams? You may find it helpful to journal about them and possibly discuss with a friend or trusted counselor.
What is your go-to comfort thing?
What is a favorite childhood memory?
What is your favorite Christmas cookie?

Cotton Balls

Cotton balls.

Curious how the most ordinary things can stir up in me a memory and a feeling in my body. And – weird – cotton balls?

Yep, those little white swabby things. I use them to take off nail polish. This particular cluster of white soft fuzzies came in the top of a supplement (vitamin D I think it was) bottle. It’s got the top plastic sealed, a you-gotta-peel-it-off seal under the lid, and then a blob of cotton under that.

MomJuls, only the most-awesome-cool-and-lovely soul who may have ever lived, was ultra cool and lovely for thousands of reasons. Among them, she taught me frugality and some common sense. “Sweetheart, save the cotton balls that come in the medicine bottles. They’re good for many things… I cannot understand why people throw away the cotton balls only to add cotton balls to their WalMart list.” Envision this tiny Italian woman, hands out and fingers-thumb touching, “I wanna say to them ‘eh, what’sa matter you?’”

She’s been gone now two years. No, that’s actually not quite right. She’s been out of her skin for two years, but her Soul has never left us.

Every time I save some cotton, it’s like I feel her satisfaction with me. Her approval. “Atsa ma-girl.”

Even now I raise my eyes to the heavens and share, “Juls, this is for you” when I reuse a piece of tin foil or saran wrap. Husband smiles. And when I save the last two bites of a sandwich or buy the day-old rotisserie chicken and, after having picked the bones clean, make soup out of it, I gotta believe she’s thrilled. “You-a make-a me proud, Toodle-Ooo,” she’d say and smooch my cheek. I’m sure of it.

At this time in my life, when I’m between jobs and my feet are floating a few inches off the ground and I can’t quite seem to find my purpose, I ponder this spitfire of a Soul.

She never had a career. And yet.

Didn’t earn enough money to mention. And yet.

Traveled minimally. And yet.

Never wrote a famous book nor did she get on TV or have her own YouTube channel.

And.

Yet.

She wasn’t even five feet tall but oh was she big-hearted. Highly influential to many, not just me. And today, as I wash out the glass jar the green olives came in to reuse somehow someway, I remember her. I still feel her.

And I smile.

Writing Every Day Down,

In gratitude & wonder.

JOURNAL PROMPT:

Becoming increasingly more aware of this very moment is rocking my world and so I share this vibe with you. I welcome you into a space of Now, Here, Being.

** Is there anyone who was influential to you in your childhood? Adolescence? Older? What makes you think of them even today?

** Are there any practical practices you have in your own life? Canning tomatoes? Making your own soap? Reusing tin foil?

** Is there anyone to whom you are influential?

** In our family, everyone’s got a nickname… have you got one?